Blossoming
by fanfic n00b
Summary: In which Neville and Luna satisfy their mutual curiosity on a July afternoon.


**A/N** _This story contains scenes of a sexual nature. Nothing graphic, but please do not read on if you're likely to be offended._

* * *

Harry shut the rickety wooden gate behind them as they turned toward the Burrow. Neville's arms were full of Sorcerer's Stitchwort and Mage's Thistle, which grew particularly well in this area, and which he was keen to try and propagate once he got home.

"So. That's happened," said Harry, walking beside him, wearing a sideways grin. "You and Luna."

They both regarded Luna and Ginny, who were laughing and playing peek-a-boo with Teddy Lupin by the henhouse a hundred yards away.

"Obvious, is it?" asked Neville as they descended the grassy hill.

"A bit. You look.. happier," said Harry.

"So do you. Back with Gin?"

"Yeah," Harry said, drawing out the word with a satisfied sigh that hinted at years of longing finally coming to an end. "Look at them."

Ginny was shooting colored bubbles out of her wand for the baby's amusement. The laughter carried up the hill.

"When?" asked Harry.

"About a week ago," said Neville.

"Are you an item?"

"I dunno. I'd like to be."

Luna now appeared to be juggling several radishes in mid-air. Teddy was shouting delighted baby gibberish at her.

"She's great," said Harry, amused.

"Yeah, she is," Neville agreed.

"She staying with you?"

"Until her house is repaired, yeah. With Gran and me."

"Ah. Let me help with that. It's my fault she hasn't got a house," said Harry. "Long story."

"Alright. I'll send a message when the reconstruction party gets together." He held up his DA coin, which was perpetually in his left pocket.

"Neville. I haven't got mine anymore," said Harry.

"Ginny does."

"Oh. Yeah. I expect she does," said Harry, watching Ginny again and smiling absently.

Neville eyed the Weasleys' summer garden. The tomatoes had just begun to blush from green to red, and the lavender stretched high, fragrant stalks toward the sunlight.

"Where're Ron and Hermione?" asked Neville.

"Upstairs. Packing for Australia," replied Harry.

Neville quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah. _Packing_," said Harry, rolling his eyes and smirking. "They do that a lot now."

Neville snorted softly. "Took them long enough."

"Yeah." Harry sighed and his eyes went unfocused, looking past the chickens and the house, as if seeing through them. "I knew they would eventually. We were - we were in the Malfoys' basement with Luna a few months ago and - well, she's probably told you what happened to Hermione."

"She has," said Neville, shuddering inwardly. Oh yes, he knew quite a lot about _that_ sort of thing. And about the particular witch who inflicted it.

"Yeah. They've been through a lot, Ron and Hermione. Luna, too," said Harry. He turned to Neville, suddenly adamant. "Come be an Auror with us. You were amazing back there. You'd be great."

Neville knew what "back there" meant: that surreal morning at Hogwarts a few weeks ago. The severed snake. The crumpled body of Tom Riddle on blood-stained stone.

"Otherwise it's just Ron and me," Harry continued. "Hermione's back to school in September. And I'm used to three."

They chuckled. A speckled black and white chicken strutted across their path, and they stopped to let it pass.

"I'll think about it. Is Ron's mum home? Want a word about Bellatrix Lestrange," said Neville.

"I expect you do. She's just there, in the kitchen."

Harry pointed out a downstairs window, through which they could see Molly talking animatedly to Arthur and waving her wand at a pile of potatoes, which rose and twirled through the air, unwinding long streams of papery brown skin - a Nutcracker of spuds.

"Thanks, Harry. I'll only be a moment," said Neville.

Harry caught his arm. "Happy birthday, Neville."

Neville nodded his head. "Happy birthday, Harry."

Harry watched Neville enter the kitchen and clasp Molly Weasley in a firm hug. Firm even by Weasley standards. Neville was almost a foot taller than she was, and his head draped over her shoulder, his eyebrows creased in a frown. When they finally pulled away, she mopped her eyes and immediately asked if he wanted a bacon sandwich.

Harry thought, not for the first time, that if Voldemort had chosen Neville instead of himself all those years ago, Neville probably would have done alright.

* * *

"I like your Gran," said Luna, nibbling a strawberry she had just picked on their way back from the Burrow.

"Yeah, she's great," said Neville, settling in his creaky wooden desk chair, which was too small for him now. He gave up trying to sit straight and let his legs stretch out in front of him. He watched Luna walk in lazy circles around his bedroom, poking at the houseplants trained along every surface and occasionally picking up artifacts – a photo, an old letter, a chipped remembrall.

His spectral orchids _(Phalaeonopsis lumescens)_ were in bloom, and the blossoms glowed purple in the darkening room as the setting sun filtered through the blue curtains. The flowers were almost ready to harvest.

She opened a cloisonne box full of Drooble's best blowing gum wrappers, and he almost stopped her, but then he remembered it was Luna. It was Luna, and she wouldn't think him ridiculous. This was a girl who collected butterbeer corks, after all.

"From your Mum?" she asked.

He bolted upright. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"It's inscribed 'Alice Longbottom' on the inside of this box."

"Oh. Yeah." He relaxed against the back of the chair again.

She nodded her head. "Yes, Alice," she said softly, closing the box with care bordering on reverence. "You did well."

The _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ in the corner cooed its agreement. Neville was not entirely sure what either of them were talking about, but he thought it might be a veiled compliment, judging by the way Luna looked up at him and smiled airily. He smiled back at her, and she continued perusing through his things.

She wore a white cotton shirt embroidered with little flowers and geometric patterns. In the low light, he could see through it a little.

She strode past the bookshelf, her hands running dreamily over the spines of his books- _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Spells for Solanum._

He got up and stood beside her. "I'm reading this one now," he said, picking up _Wild Worts of Wales_. "But it's pretty sparse on aquatic plants, so I'm annotating it with my own notes."

She laid her hand lightly on top of his. "You should publish, Neville," she said.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not all that original, what I'm doing. It's just a couple of chapters. Just adding onto the larger work."

She cocked her head quizzically to one side.

"It's not that I don't have the courage of my convictions," he said. "I do. I'm just..."

"Humility," she said, nodding, "seems to be a rather under-appreciated quality. Fortunately, it is not your only admirable trait."

She turned around and stroked his cheek. The burn Voldemort had inflicted upon him had almost healed.

"Yes, your mother did very well. You've turned out nicely."

He blinked at her. "Luna. You keep saying that. What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean that she must have protected you. When the Lestranges came to your house. Because here you are. Intact. And lovely. And smelling of fresh earth and grass, which is very pleasant, by the way. So, you see, she did well."

Normally, this line of thought made him tense up.

"It will be nice to finally meet her," said Luna, slipping her hand into his.

He was not sure what to say. She was stripping his defenses, as if he had worn a suit of armor for his whole life, and now she carefully lifted it away, piece-by-piece, with her gentle matter-of-fact-ness. But then, they had looked after each other for three years - first at the DA, and later in a million other ways – and if he was going to let anyone poke around his armor-less heart, it was going to be Luna Lovegood.

He leaned his head on her shoulder and she pressed her cheek against the crown of his head.

"I'd like to read your notes sometime," she said.

"Sure," he said. "Whenever you like."

She took his chin in her hands and turned to face him. Her eyelashes opened and closed slowly, and he thought of exotic shellfish filtering plankton out of the sea, and then she kissed him, and he swayed a little on his feet before catching himself and kissing her back, hard.

Her mouth tasted of strawberries - strawberries he'd planted two years ago, a few weeks after that night at the Ministry - and that was curiously wonderful, her tart mouth and the herbal smell of her skin and the memory of flying on a thestral. He threaded his fingers together at the small of her back and pulled her closer. She gave a soft little huff of pleasure. They had only been kissing for a few days, but he had grown very fond of the sensation and was beginning to suss out what she liked. A little tongue. A lot of teeth.

"Mmmm. Bed, I think," she said, breaking the kiss.

"Oh. Okay," he said, disappointed. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Are we still on for that trip to London?"

She slid her hand into his hair and looked up at him. "You misunderstand me, Neville. I meant that I should like to be in your bed. With you. As soon as possible."

He raised his eyebrows.

She tilted her head to one side again. "Did you not wish to? I surmised that you did, judging by the elevated state of your trousers, but perhaps that was an incorrect assumption."

"No, no, you assumed correctly. I'm dying to. I only thought – that I shouldn't rush you."

"You are not rushing me," she said, fiddling with something invisible mid-air by his head - nargles? "I am completely prepared. I have known you for six years. I am also terribly curious. I have not had intercourse with a man before."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess I knew that," he said. "And you're sure it's me you want?"

"Yes, Neville. You are one of my dearest friends. I like you very much. "

"Erm. Okay."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and she scooted up beside him, her fingers wandering across his back. He untied his shoes and then, for good measure, started untying hers.

"Have you had sex with anyone before?" she asked.

He mumbled incoherently at the floor.

"I didn't catch that," she said. "Say that again?"

"I - er – I said, I got off with Parvati Patil last year," he said quickly.

"Ooh, how was that?" she asked with serene interest.

"Erm. Rushed? We were both running from the Carrows, and we were hiding together in a broom closet, and it just sort of... happened. Survival instinct, or both glad to be alive, or something. She's with Dean, now, I think."

She nodded, taking off her socks. "Yes, I'd heard. Did you like it?"

"I can't really remember much about it. It was probably all of ten minutes. But it felt like my head was buzzing, after. Dizzy. Warm." He really must be turning her off with these stupid little details, he thought. "Do you think less of me, hearing that?"

"Certainly not. It sounds like it was very useful to both of you," she said, turning away from him and taking off her blouse.

"Uh. Yeah, it was. Actually."

"Excellent. Unhook me?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Yes. Of course." He unsnapped her brassiere with one quick pinching motion. He'd overheard George Weasley describing this technique years ago, and was pleased to see that theory bore out in practice.

She shimmied the straps down and slipped it off. She leaned back until her head was in his lap. She was naked from the waist up. Pale, rosy, with a few nearly-healed nicks and curse wounds.

"Hell, Luna," he said.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. No. It's just – I never realized. How nice your, ah..."

"Oh, yes. I have been told they are objectively good," she said, planting his hands on her breasts.

_Merlin, what an understatement, _he thought. _Try 'unequivocally splendid.' Or 'perfectly symmetrical.' _"Who said they were objectively good?" he asked.

"Cho Chang. Oh, and Hannah Abbott."

She did not elaborate, but his feverish imagination conjured up several images... Especially where Hannah was concerned. What exactly went on in the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory? Next moment, he kicked himself for thinking that. He should definitely, definitely not be thinking about Hannah when Luna was right here in front of him.

She reached up and unbuttoned his shirt nimbly, and then tugged it off him, but his arms were so long that he had to finish the job himself.

"Lovely," she said, pushing him onto his back so that she lay on top of him, skin-to-skin. "This is much better without clothes, isn't it."

It was. There had been no time for this with Parvati. It was thrilling, nerve endings against each other, electrons shared across their skin. Her white-blonde hair felt cool and ticklish against his neck.

Emboldened, he slid a hand under her skirt.

"I quite agree. This should come off as well," she said, getting to her feet.

He closed his eyes, mentally cataloguing this moment. The smell of the room, the soft rustle of garments, the temperature of the air. When he opened them again, she was standing in nothing but knickers. Bright orange knickers. She was fair and slender, with hips just slightly wider than her shoulders. Although her expression was serene, he detected a flush of color at her throat, and he could see her pulse flashing quickly there, too. He bit his lip.

"Can I see the rest of you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, standing close to him, allowing him to kiss her stomach. "Much the better to learn the territory."

Head spinning, he slid her knickers past her knees and lost track of them around an ankle. He lifted her off her feet and laid her on the bed, nudging her knees apart as gently as possible.

She was gorgeous - floral. Open. He swore softly, sliding a finger along the petals, and she stretched her arms luxuriantly over her head. He mused over the flower metaphor as he continued touching her - calyx, sepals, stigma. The analogy fit, though imperfectly. There were definitely some parts more sensitive than others.

"Ah - that's nice there, isn't it..." she said, trailing off into a series of little squeaks and hums. "How do you know how to – do that?"

"I read," he said, smiling. "A lot."

"Wonderful," she said.

After a few minutes, he could tell she was getting close, because she arched her back and babbled something in either Latin or Sanskrit, so he kept at it, marveling at the little beads of sweat forming above her blonde eyebrows and the very enticing rhythm of her stomach muscles.

At last, she thrust her hips harder, higher, and released, getting wetter and louder and finally melting back into the bedspread with a long, shuddering sigh. Her hand found his and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

"Thank you," she said. "I enjoyed that."

"So did I," he said, propping himself up on his elbow and kissing her hair.

"Yes, definitely ready now," she said. "Will you take your trousers off?"

He did not need asking twice. He got to his feet and did as she asked.

"Pants as well, if you don't mind," she said to the ceiling.

"Got it," he said.

The room had gone completely dark now, except for the glowing orchids, so he flicked his wand at a couple of pillar candles and an old propane lantern on the nightstand, and light spilled from them. The night-blooming jasmine trained along one wall released its soft, honeyed perfume.

A moment later, he was nose-to-nose with her, and completely skin-to-skin. Her hands explored him curiously, avidly.

"Luna," he breathed. "I know it's your first. So stop me if -"

"I will," she interjected. She toyed with his hair affectionately. "You are very considerate."

"And, ah - contraceptive charm?"

"I've already done one."

"When?"

"At the Weasleys'."

He laughed. "You wanted to do this at the Burrow?"

"Certainly, had the opportunity presented itself. But you seemed to enjoy talking to Harry Potter, and I do like Theodore Lupin very much. So here we are. And I don't mind. I like your room, Neville."

"Thanks."

His cheeks felt hot, flushed. Luna looked up at him with dreamy, abstract interest. She scooted down a fraction and fit his hips against hers. He swore softly again.

"You are fond of that expression," she observed.

He did not reply. His head had gone dizzy again. Her eyes were burning blue suns, and he seemed to be orbiting closer and closer to them. Her hands anchored him, guiding him _in_ and _close_ and _down._ A port in a storm. A sanctuary at the end of the world.

* * *

Afterward, she picked up _Wild Worts of Wales_ again and crawled back into bed, sliding her feet along his shins and pressing her back against his chest. Spooning. She flipped to the end of the book, to his own notes and meticulous drawings.

"Sea carrots are under-documented, aren't they?" she said. "I'm glad that you've spent some time on them."

"Yeah. I like them," he said, slipping a hand over her breast again. She didn't seem to mind.

"Let me publish this in the Quibbler," she said.

"If you like," he said.

She went silent, reading his notes, occasionally tutting her agreement with some finer point or holding the whole book upside down.

"Luna?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Was that alright?"

"Oh, yes. A little different from what I expected. But in a pleasant way."

"Oh. Good."

"I'd like to have another go in a moment," she said.

"Aren't you sore?"

"Not especially. You are a very deft lover, Neville."

"Am I?"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly.

He could not disguise his pleasure at that.

She put the book on the nightstand and turned her body to face him.

"This time, though," she said, pinning him against the mattress, "I'd like to be on top. And then on my side. And then on my stomach. What do you think?"

He bit his lip again, unsure what gods had sent him this curious, confounding, beautiful girl, and why. "Yes, I think I can manage that," he said.

"Good."

Her wild, mussed hair fell across his face, and he could not see beyond her. She was his whole world, at the moment.

"I really, really like you, Luna," he said.

"I really, really like you, too, Neville," she said. "Budge up a second. There. Ahhh. That's it."

Over the next few hours, he lost himself in details. Crickets. Nightingales. Her delighted smile when one of his experimental movements pleased her.

This summer infinitely surpassed any previous one.


End file.
